If you could only manage to stand still--but I suppose you can't.
"By the way," he remarked casually, after a short silence, save for an occasional squeal from Miss Georgie, "speaking of Saunders--I didn't shoot him." Miss Georgie looked up at him, to the further entanglement of her hair.
"You DIDN'T?
Then who did ?" "Search ME," he offered figuratively and briefly.
"Well, I will." Miss Georgie spoke with a certain decisiveness, and reaching out a sage-soiled hand, took his gun from the holster at his hip.

He shrank away with a man's instinctive dislike of having anyone make free with his weapons, but it was a single movement, which he controlled instantly.
"Stand still, can't you ?" he admonished, and kept at work while she examined the gun with a dexterity and ease of every motion which betrayed her perfect familiarity with firearms.

She snapped the cylinder into place, sniffed daintily at the end of the barrel, and slipped the gun back into its scabbard.
"Don't think I doubted your word," she said, casting a slanting glance up at him without moving her head.

"But I wanted to be able to swear positively, if I should happen to be dragged into the witness-box--I hope it won't be by the hair of the head!--that your gun has not been fired this morning.

Unless you carry a cleaning rod with you," she added, "which would hardly be likely." "You may search me if you like," Good Indian suggested, and for an engaged young man, and one deeply in love withal, he displayed a contentment with the situation which was almost reprehensible.
"No use.